A Figure of Speech
by ladyemma
Summary: Lily Evans started her journal because her mum made her, but very soon she found it to be the only way to keep her sanity or what she has left of it in her craziest year yet. James/Lily


_September 1_

So I've sat here with this book in hand for a good fifteen minutes doing nothing. Just twirling my hair and thinking stupid thoughts, something I do a lot of. And by a lot I mean half the time, which of course means all the time.

I'll be honest: I'm only writing in here because Mum is making me. She gave me this journal due to my so called "anger issues". It's not my fault that the world is filled with idiots, or that they seemed to take offense at being told of it! If anything, Mum, it's your fault these mutant genes. Everyone knows that redheads have tempers. It's more than enough that I have stupid thoughts, I don't need the evidence on paper where anyone can read it!

Anyway, now that I have written in here and have therefore completed all obligations to Mum, I doubt that I will again. And guess what? I still feel angry, so obviously this hasn't helped.

_Later_

Alright, I lied. But I didn't mean to! Last entry was supposed to be the last. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. And this is a desperate time. As they said in The Sound of Music, "Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start":

This summer I was informed that I had been made head girl of my school. This pleased me, of course. At last I would be able to have real power over Potter! Being prefect hadn't been enough. It's not even abusing my power! After all, he is sexually harassing me (and I have told him many times to stop asking me out or saying "romantic", or in his mind anyway, things to me), and if that's not against the rules, it should be!

Back to the present (or past as it is now, but you-I?- get what I mean). I was strolling down the train's hallways to the place where the head boy and girl were told to meet. I was singing to myself in my head, sure that everything was going to be alright. Of course this was a mistake. Everyone knows that once that's said it quite often makes things even worse. It's almost as bad as "it can't get any worse." I didn't realize my mistake right away, so I just stood there happy until Potter showed up. You can be sure that that completely wiped away my good mood. I just stood there gaping at him while he did that stupid grin of his.

"Yes, I'm the head boy. Isn't that just wonderful? I know we'll do great things together."

It occurred to me that I should probably say some sort of insult, but I couldn't think of a blessed thing to say. Thinking back now, it's probably just as well. Potter would have most likely thought that it was a confession of my undying love or some ridiculous thing like that. Just writing those words makes me want to claw my eyes out!

I think we were told our duties by some person I have never seen before, but I completely spaced out. I'm pretty sure that they said something about welcoming the first years and greeting the prefects, but the rest I'm not sure about. Oh well, it can't be too hard to understand. Speaking of which, how did Potter become head boy? He wasn't even a prefect, and he's definitely not a good pick! That Boy is going to ruin what was supposed to be a good last year for me.

IS DUMBLEDORE MAD? Well, silly question. Of course he is. I should have known there was something evil behind those twinkling eyes of his.

SURVIVAL SKILL NUMBER ONE: Never trust a man with twinkling eyes. Especially blue ones.

Oh, and in case I ever write in here again, I might as well make sure that no unwanted person is reading this.

**BEWARE THOSE WHO READ THIS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION: I WILL PUT A POWERFUL HEX ON YOU! THAT MEANS YOU, JAMES POTTER!!!!!!**

LATER

I must admit that this concept of writing a journal is a foreign one to me. As everyone knows, talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, and yet writing to yourself isn't? It's considered therapeutic while talking to yourself would probably place you in therapy.

I suppose I could always do what Anne Frank did and address it to someone, real or made up. Of course that didn't end up too well with her, since her diary ended up getting published. Dear Merlin I hope the same thing doesn't happen to me. Even if I were dead first. Having generations of readers read what I have written does not sound appealing to me. Let's just hope I'm as good of a witch as everyone says I am.

Oh good, we'll be arriving soon. This has officially been the longest train ride ever, and since the head boy last year had to be the most boring person known to man and went on for ages about our prefect duties, that's saying a lot.


End file.
